Book 1

Birth of a God

Prologue

Edification

Knock. Knock.

Tentative it came, the rapping on his chamber door. It did not come again. Praying whomever had finally had enough of this damned Shin-ra mansion, Vincent Valentine rolled over in his coffin and ignored the demand. Shutting his eyes, the color of fresh blood, he attempted to fade away from the world that had done him so much wrong...

Knock. Knock.

But, of course, things were never that easy for him.

Gritting his teeth irritably, the former-Turk cried out, "I'm asleep. Go away!"

He received no answer.

Satisfied that the fool had, indeed, fled, Vincent settled into another, hopefully more comfortable, position. Rather difficult to do in a coffin. His muscles cramped horribly and his body protested the daily persecution of inactivity. Sighing, mildly annoyed at the ache (he'd been in this for thirty years before and hadn't suffered so!), Vincent gathered his flame-emulating cape around him for additional warmth.

"If you're asleep, then why am I hearing your voice?"

He's got you there, Valentine...

Another sigh, again of irritation, and Vincent jerked open the lid of his prison. With a grunt and considerable dust it gave way and clanked to the floor. Light, even in this dark chamber, spilled in savaging his delicate eyes. Rubbing them, the former-Turk rose and crawled out.

"Are you still...alive...err...dead...ah...there?"

At last, Valentine decided to respond, hoping his deep base tone and menacing pitch would scare off the man. "Yes, I'm here...Do you dare enter knowing it could cost you your life...or your soul?"

That ought to do it...he's got more ass than most of them...

A harsh swallow came from the other side of the door. For a moment it seemed like the intruder surrendered to his good sense and made quick his escape. Indeed, the sounds of hastily shuffled feet came to the former-Turk's keen animalistic ears and he sighed, yet again.

But in less than a heartbeat the man was back, whispering, "Well, Mr. Valentine sir, I haven't got much to offer...but if you'll take my soul for the information I'm asking, I'll gladly give it."

So much for sleep...but then, few people can rest for thirty years and not be disturbed once or twice...

Tossing his chilling crimson cape over a shoulder, Vincent swept past the room to the door. The items and furniture in the chamber were sparse, but he was hardly in need of much social or physical activity. Shadows birthed here and there, a single candle summoning and dismissing them at whim. Webs like fine silk draped over the corners, some extending the length of a wall.

Vincent flung the door open unceremoniously. Taking aback, the intruder stumbled but quickly straightened. He was a simple man with plain brown hair and clear blue eyes, donning those silly ivory scientist cloaks. In one hand he held a clipboard and the other, a feather stylus. His face contorted with fear and, still, he peered in eagerly.

Flipping his gloved hand, Valentine admitted the eccentric fellow. He swallowed again, perhaps weighing the 'cost of his soul' with the treasure of information he might attain. Like the mouse leaving the safety of his den, so did this man gingerly enter Vincent's domain. And he watched Vincent as if the former-Turk was a cat, too.

But he did enter and, for that, the blood-caped Valentine gave him credit.

"Err...nice place you have...here...sir..." the fellow remarked conversationally. Vincent failed to reply. Then, the man rested one hand on a coffin. "Oh, this feels cold. I wonder..."

"Yikes!" cried he when a spider crawled over him inquisitively. He promptly shook the creature off with a shudder. "Hi...my name's Luke Smith and yours is Vincent Valentine, "

Luke's eyes lit, elated, from managing to obtain a conversation. Eagerly, but mindful of the whole soul part, he lifted a hand. To that, Vincent just observed him coolly. Luke whistled, "Okay, then. Not one for hand-shaking I can see....That's alright. I was warned that you weren't much for formalities."

That did draw the former-Turk's attention. His bloodish eyes flashed dangerously. "Warned? By whom?"

Waving his hand, the intruder promptly seated himself on a coffin. Made himself at home, so to speak. Those navy blue eyes panned the chamber enthusiastically. "Oh, by your former teammates, of course. Cloud said you weren't the talking sort while Tifa added that you were a bit reserved. Cid just shrugged off the subject, Barrett did much the same, and Yuffie said you gave her 'the chills'. I couldn't find Cait Sith within a hundred yards but Red pointed out that you had a lot to deal with–a lot on your mind."

"You've spoken to them all?" This threw the impeccably ordered mind of Vincent's out of sequence. His guard rose, as was his custom. What does this strange man want? Can no one leave me at peace? I slept thirty years before and I intend to rest for another thirty! Briefly, he mused with the idea of scaring the man out again, but he dismissed that notion. If Luke had the gall to endure the Shin-ra mansion's 'blood-curdling curses' little would sway him. So, Vincent merely gazed, devoid of expression.

"Yeah, all of them–well, except Cait Sith, as I mentioned. Seeing as you were busy doing...Ah, well, busy...I'll get right to the point–Oh, my, is that really him!?"

To Vincent's mild annoyance, Luke leapt off the casket and snatched up the object that caught his eye. Those eyes, as blue as ocean water, caressed the item in question...that being a portrait of a green-eyed, silver-haired man. The Valentine's guts twisted slightly at the forced remembrance of yet another sin he had committed–slaying his lover's son. And even though he had done so only to save the world, he could feel another stain upon his soul.

Will I ever be free of it?

Hands carefully cradling the painting, the scientist-reporter glanced up, whispering, "I guess you figured out my reasons for being here. I am a researcher, investigating the Materia War. Already, I've collected hundreds of resources–Shin-ra secret files, Hojo's and Gast's manuscripts, war journals with Wutai. I've interviewed all of the Avalanche members, Turks, Shin-ra associates. I've even managed to uncover a long-lost diary of the Great man himself." The last accomplishment had Luke grinning like his face was perpetually that stupid.

Vincent said nothing. He knew what the man wanted now; the former-Turk assented with a nod. Though the very thought of opening those old wounds distressed him, it was far better to slice them free of the dark pus of guilt than to let them fester.

His grin still intact, Luke held up the portrait. The man in the picture, his hair like silver moonbeams, lifted a hand to the heavens even as his amazing Katana blade gestured hellward. Luke finally added the unnecessary words, "I have come to complete the final research on the enigma known as Sephiroth. Shall we begin?"